


Change (Leaving Hiatus)

by Peau_d_Ane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Minor Character Death, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 23:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19981999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peau_d_Ane/pseuds/Peau_d_Ane
Summary: (Soulmate Au: You have a mark that changes to represent your soulmate's strong interests when you touch/do something related to said interest.)





	1. Chapter 1

_Reader is adopted._  
_Reader tends to overthink but is easily swept away by emotion._

\---1987---

You're only three when the first mark appears.  
You're alone in the living room, putting a puzzle together. Young and not great at it, but you have an excellent eye for colour and a decent one for detail, which is probably why you notice the mark almost immediately.  
It has the colour of a birthmark, though it is oddly shaped and you're certain it hasn’t always been on your wrist. You twist your arm into awkward positions, trying to make it out.  
It’s a half circle with a skull above it. A pirate ship.  
You look down at the puzzle that you had nearly finished. (You’d look at the box, but you don't like doing that. Spoils the fun.) There’s a pile of color that you haven’t put together yet and the sections aren’t connected, but when you look at it...It could be a picture of a ship on the sea during a storm.  
Or not. Maybe not.  
You should probably tell Dad, but you want to finish the puzzle first. There’s a rush of excitement and curiosity because of your soulmark.  
It takes half an hour, but soon you find yourself rushing to his study and telling him you've finished the puzzle. He congratulates you, goes to see it, gets excited with you. You forget to tell him about your soulmark, lost in the happiness and pride of him praising you.  
That night, you ask him to tell you about Papa.  
He gets a sad look in his eye and smiles, the way he always does when he is brought up. He likes to talk about Papa, though, so it’s not hesitation. Something else.  
He starts the way he always does, establishing the time between the story and their first meeting. He tells you about Papa’s cooking this time, how passionate he was about it, how he would show off. You remember the cooking. More specifically, you remember how it tasted when he made (F/F).  
It’s something that will stick with you.  
After, he pauses for a bit, seeming pensive. When he starts again, it’s to tell you how he and your Papa met. It’s not a story you’ve heard before, oddly, so you’re very interested.  
He finishes with a kiss to your hair and a comment that it’s late and you should be asleep.  
As he’s about to leave the room after helping you climb up onto the bed, you remember what you’d been thinking of earlier.  
“Wait, Dad?”  
He pauses in the doorway, resting his hand on the dresser.  
“Yes?”  
“I got my soulmark today. It’s on my wrist.”  
“I know, (Y/N).”  
You’re not very surprised. The pause earlier was weird. “Oh. Okay. Love you.”  
You go to sleep.

You’re five years old when the mark changes into a shoe. It surprises you, but a book on soulmates has something like this in it.  
Did your soulmate die or do you just have a different kind of soulmark than you thought?  
Hopefully, it’s the second.  
The mark only stays that way for so long before it seems to melt into itself. A few weeks later and it’s the ship again, almost. Almost. You can’t define the difference, but you’re relieved anyways.

Eventually, you reach secondary school. You’ve skipped a few grades--only one or two, really--but the work is still unfulfilling. You long for something that doesn’t only involve sitting at a desk and listening. Around this time, you try to find something to express that--you dive into art. Music, painting, carving, anything you can get your hands on. Nothing fits, really, but now you know how to watercolor. You stick to playing the piano--not because you love it on its own, but because when you start, your soulmark begins change again.  
It’s slow this time--it takes a few weeks before the mark looks like a violin, and even then it’s a bit blobby compared to the first pirate ship. You wonder about your soulmate. Are they okay? Is it an emotional problem? You’re not sure. There’s nothing about this in the books you’ve read, perhaps due to the rarity of your soulmark.  
You’re excited when you go home to tell your Dad about the change. He’s happy for you, but he’s looking more tired by the day. You’re worried for him.  
The two of you lay out a few puzzles that night. You make dinner, knowing that specific chore makes him less cheery. He used to try to help anyway, but as you get older you prefer doing it on your own.  
As you solve puzzles, you talk to him about soulmates, momentarily forgetting the tough subject. He doesn’t seem to mind, though.  
You suppose you get your romanticism from him.

The mark changes again a few years later. You’re in chem performing your first experiment when you notice that the mark on your wrist is shifting again.  
It takes only two days to become a bubbling flask. You’re excited with this change, even more so with how clear this mark is. Your soulmate must really enjoy chemistry.  
You wonder what they have on their wrist. What do you love to do that much? Not a lot, really. You tend to get a bit frustrated even with the things you like. You don’t think you’ve found a hobby that you love enough to be a clear shape on your soulmate’s wrist. Maybe they have a marking vaguely shaped like a piano, or…  
You’re not sure.  
Your mark is a flask for years, though it becomes slightly less clear over time.

The next time it changes is something you’ll never be able to forget.

\----2008----

You’re twenty four. Your soulmark hasn’t become less clear, but you swear it’s faded.  
Why? Not sure. Is your soulmate alright? Hopefully.  
You’re going over to your close friend’s house to pick them up. The two of you and another friend had plans to get lunch.  
You knock twice. No answer.  
Probably still getting ready, which would be typical of Elle. She's precise and tends to take her time.  
Rolling your eyes, you knock again.  
You’re surprised when the door is opened.  
She looks ready to go, but something makes you unsure if she is. Her hair is damp but she’s wearing a white tank top. Not a great idea, all things considered.  
You mention this to her.  
“Um, right,” she laughs, slightly awkward, “I’ll grab a jacket.”  
You get in the car with her and drive to pick up Noah.  
“Your shoes are untied.”  
"I was rushing.” She sounds apologetic.  
“That’s okay.” You make a mental note to talk to her later privately.  
Noah hops into the backseat with her.  
He comments that her hair is still wet.

The three of you decide that ice cream and a sandwich counts as lunch, so you take a walk as you eat. You’re bored, so you suggest a game. Noah brings up the one where you make up a story about strangers. You know it’s partially to let Elle show off, but let him be.  
She goes first, focusing on a woman with short blonde hair.  
“She’s...a chef. Her father is a lawyer, mother is a doctor. Despite this, she was encouraged to ‘follow her dreams’ or whatever, but instead of doing that she settled for what she was decent at. Her dream job was to be a marine biologist, but she hates the ocean. Shame. She would’ve been happier following the other. She hasn’t met her soulmate yet, but she’s in a relationship. Not expecting a platonic one, just wants experience. Understandable.”  
“How much of that was bull?” Noah looks a bit incredulous.  
“Eh, about half. She really is a chef, her parents are well off and probably sensible but she gets along with them so I’m assuming they support her career choices. She likes marine animals quite a bit, but the relationship was a bit of a stretch.”  
“How?”  
You interrupt Elle before she starts. “She’s a chef because of her jeans and her smell. I’m guessing you based your assumptions about the parents off of her purse or clothing, something like that. She has orca whale earrings, but that’s all I can see about the marine animals. Her soulmark is on her shoulder, looks like one of the touch ones but hasn’t changed color yet. As for a relationship, I don’t know. She’s moving quickly, maybe to a date, but her clothing seems to go against that.”  
“You’re not wrong.”  
“Oh, just go for it. Explain.”  
“You were right about the jeans--there’s flour on them. Could’ve only been baking this once, but she also has an apron which she put in her bag before she passed. Smells like savory food, not sweet, so not a baker. Her parents--”  
“Wait! You knew about the relationship because of her clothing, too, right? She’s been in a very hot place all day, what kind of person wears a turtleneck after that, even a sleeveless one?” You blurt.  
Noah looks at you suggestively.  
You roll your eyes. “Yes, hickeys. But she’s expecting to change, that’s why she’s in a rush, yeah? She thought she’d have more time.”  
“Good job. Stealing my thunder, that is.” Her voice is playful, though, so you laugh.

You stop in front of Noah’s house, but tell him that you’ll be out here for a bit.  
“I need to talk to Elle for a moment.” You give him a meaningful look, letting him know that you’re concerned.  
“If that’s the case, I’d rather be here,” He leans in, making his voice quiet, “She’s my friend, (Y/N).”  
“Yes, she is, so you know how little she likes these things. It’ll be better if there’s only one of us.”  
He leaves the car, but doesn’t go inside.  
“Okay, what’s wrong? You’ve been weird all day.”  
“It’s...not anything important, (Y/N). Just…”  
“Just paranoia? No, there’s more. I would’ve asked this morning if I thought you wouldn’t cheer up during the day. And really, it’s not just today, because you’ve been odd for a while. Since Thursday, at least.”  
You wait for her to answer. It’s a tense silence.  
“I think I’m being watched.”  
You pause. “Okay. Why?”  
“Well, there’s the feeling of eyes on me, obviously, but there are also a few things of mine that have gone missing.”  
“Like?”  
“I don’t know. A shoe, a few shirts...I thought I lost a sports bra, but it was just in a totally different place than where I thought I’d put it.”  
“That’s a bit creepy. Why didn’t you say this sooner? No, scratch that. Didn’t want to ask for help. Got it.”  
She gives a nervous smile.  
“Do you want to stay with one of us?”  
She pauses to think it over.  
“I don’t want to go home. I have a bad feeling, (Y/N).”  
There’s a tingling down your spine. You have a bad feeling too.  
“Alright, come home with me. Dad won’t mind.”  
She comes home with you and helps you make dinner, though you insist that she shouldn’t. Afterwards, the three of you sit in the living room to talk.  
Your Dad retires early. He’s been getting better lately, less tired. Happier.  
It’s late when Elle inevitable starts to fall apart.  
She confides in you a feeling of hopelessness, a fear of no escape. You listen carefully, offering your home for a while.  
“Maybe we can go to the police.”  
She shakes her head slowly. “No evidence. I doubt they’d listen.”  
You sigh. “Yeah. Let’s sleep on it. I’m exhausted.”  
“Alright. Where’s your room? Do you have an extra mattress?”

Half a week passes with her staying at your house. She's not getting much better, glancing around a room with suspicion as she enters, stumbling down the stairs in the morning with bags under her eyes… You help the only way you can, by giving her a safe place.  
It's not enough.  
The next week, she starts feeling uncomfortable. Staying in an (somewhat) unfamiliar house hasn't been helping, surely. So you bring her home.

You wish you hadn't. 

You’re in front of the house of your best friend. It’s a cold afternoon. Sirens are blaring and a policeman crouches beside you.  
You don’t want to remember what happened. Don’t want to remember the sickening smell of wet or the look on her face or...or the gun in her hand. The hole in her head. The blood on the pale couch…  
The faceless man who sat across from you.  
Still, you tell the officer. You’d arrived after it started. You heard a gunshot, but you didn’t…  
It doesn’t make sense. Did she want you to find them?  
Why would she choose herself?  
Nothing makes sense  
You thought  
Thought  
Thought  
No. You don’t want to think.  
You’re shaking, now.

Oh, god.  
You aren't ready to tell him, but you know you have to. It's already ringing.  
He picks up too quickly for you.  
“Hey hey, what’s up?”  
You opt for the easy answer.  
“She--she’s dead.”  
There’s a long pause.  
It's horrible. You hang up.

You're the prime suspect at first, but they find evidence of three people at the crime scene and evidence such as blood splatter doesn't point to you. They drop the idea.

They drop the case.

  
There’s a magnifying glass on your wrist, dark and clear.

You don't want to see it anymore. You cover it up.


	2. Update

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excuses; an update on the update situation

Hey guys, sorry about everything in general. I wrote this during a traumatic time in my life, having severe friction burns that were still healing. Since around early August, every time I tried to sit down and work on it, I would freeze up and then start thinking about literally anything else. 

All of that said, I'm going to start working on it again. I really want to see this through. It will probably be another few weeks before this is completely finished. Please be patient with me.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, I'm a sucker for soulmate AUs so this is likely the first in a series. I write awkwardly, I know. LMK if you have any advice or if something's wrong, criticism is appreciated.


End file.
